I slid into the booth across from her, me in my jeans and t-shirt, she in her professional, business clothes. We do this often. Impromptu lunch dates filled with heart-level conversations.
We ordered our waters, and she ordered for both of us because she and I always eat the same soup and entree at the Thai restaurant. We waited for the waitress to leave, and I began. It was my day to unload.
I rambled on for a few minutes, through our cups of soup and our plates of Chicken Panang. Through our checking text messages and answering phone calls. We’re used to this, and neither take offense.
When we finished our food, and I finished rattling off my laundry list of grievances, she looked me straight in the eyes and spoke truth. She’s earned the right to do that. This might be the greatest opportunity you’ve ever had to show grace. Be Jesus.
She was right. I didn’t like it then, and I still don’t. I know I can say to her exactly what I’m thinking. I made some excuses because as much grace as I’ve been given, and as much as I like to give it, there are some situations where it’s just easier to hold on to it rather than extend it.
She shot down every excuse, as I expected she would. She has a kind way of being direct, and I know her heart for me is always good. There’s no judgment. I love her for that.
I took a drink of my water, and admitted that I wasn’t sure I was prepared to offer grace.
Extending grace can feel a bit like losing, not to mention, risky. Will I be able to turn the other cheek if my offering is not received?
Practically, grace is having self-control when I’d rather get revenge. It’s letting go of wrongs when I’d rather hold on to them. It’s making the first move instead of waiting. It’s forgiving when forgiveness hasn’t been requested. It’s embracing my enemies when I’d rather hold them at arm’s length. It’s remaining silent when I’m attacked.
We sat silently for a minute, and I thought about how grace isn’t easy, and anybody that says it is doesn’t have a clue.
I’m not good at this grace life. I don’t know if I ever will be. The further I lean into grace, the more difficult it feels because it’s transforming me from the inside out. I keep encountering situations in which I have to ask myself if I am going to let grace have its way with me rather than cling to my selfishness.
As our plates were cleared and our checks were delivered, I gave one last excuse for avoiding grace: I don’t want to be a doormat. She paused, then asked, Was Jesus a doormat? I knew it wasn’t a rhetorical question. She expected an answer. No. In her encouraging way, she said, You don’t have to be a doormat either. And while it’s your choice whether to offer it, I think this is the opportunity to live out the grace you talk about.
She was right. Long after we’d walked out, gotten in our respective cars, and parted ways, the conversation stayed with me. I’m still considering her words.
Something in me thinks I’ve got to feel the grace before I can offer it. But maybe part of grace is doing what’s best even when I don’t feel like doing it.
